Volume 10 Number 2
January 1971

William Haley

"Cross over the bridge, brother, cross over the bridge." That ain't a river, that's only a creek, "cross over the bridge, brother, cross over the bridge." It just looks wide, it just looks deep, it just looks forbidding, it just looks strange, "cross over the bridge, brother, cross over the bridge."

How do you get ten Indian high school girls to want to go to college? We picked ten girls for their grades and social awareness. Then in their senior year, we gave them a college extension course in general psychology in their own classrooms. We tried to make it similar to high school work, only more difficult.

Finally, the group was twice taken to Dakota State College in Madison, for a taste of campus life.

These girls were attending the United States Indian School at Flandreau, 40 miles east of Madison. Their boarding high school draws students from seven reservations in five states. They come to their high school on the recommendation of the tribal agency or reservation council who tries to help students with disadvantaged backgrounds.

Often the student lacked the training and experience that motivate higher learning. Many students are content to graduate from high school and look upon it as a convenient "stopping spot." Sometimes the lack of motivation springs from a limited view of the future because of their Indian identity. Sometimes it springs from fear of a new learning situation. Sometimes it comes from poverty. Sometimes the lack stems from fear of a new peer group. Sometimes the motivation is stunted by stoicism, sometimes by hate.

But probably the biggest stumbling block is "the call of the reservation." This is the mute, demanding, illogical love of native land common to all races. "There we are accepted. There others treat us as we have been trained to expect treatment. There the world of my youth still stands. There is where my friends are. There is where my elders are." For among reservation-reared students, the reverence for the elder is an accepted fact of living. This is not a duty or a chore, but a natural, accepted form of communal living. The young child is fed, clothed, trained and indoctrinated by his elders in the ways of old.

Traditionally the grandmother cares for and educates Indian young. The continuity of tribal history is rejuvenated through the young. Taking care of the elders is a built-in responsibility of tribal living. It is the young's insurance policy for their own older years. But this, the "call of the reservation," can impede the motivation for higher education. For on the reservation, they are loved but never motivated toward books. The reservation is a vacuum and the "outside" is pressure.

At Dakota State College, they lived with foster parents who had agreed to help with the project through their church. Guides from the freshman classes, as close to their own ages as is possible, took the students to classes with them and made them take notes and otherwise participate in classroom activity. The guides took them to Coke breaks at the student union and to special festive dinners at the school cafeteria.

They saw themselves on closed-circuit television as they answered the question, "Would you really like to go to college?' This seemed to have the biggest impact. They watched and heard themselves on the monitor say "Yes." The sound of it did not frighten them, and as they tried it on for size it seemed to grow on them.

Clam Adams, 19, Crow Agency Reservation, Montana, a petite dark-haired girl with olive skin, faced the camera and said, "Yes, I think I would like to go to college." Dressed in a mini-skirt and blouse of the day, Clara watched herself answer the question. Clara is of the quiet stoic type where a long sentence represents considerable effort.

Next came Monica Caye, Kootenia Tribe, a 5'4", 110-pound outgoing girl with dark hair and almond-shaped eyes who delighted in watching others. Monica mugged and hammed at the camera as she watched herself on closed-circuit television and heard herself also say, "Sure, I would like to go to college," and then giggled.

Kathleen Red Tomahawk, Sioux Reservation, Williston, North Dakota, is a tall willowy girl with black hair and a stoic face. Mischief danced behind her eyes as she conformed with her face to the expected norm, for she had already experienced 40 years in her 18, and had figured out the difference between social life and academic life at the college.

All of the girls were quiet and seemed to respond almost in the form of a dare. It was not unusual for them to revert to the quiet introspection normally associated with their race. This would be punctuated by a youthful outburst as they distinguished the difference in values of the two cultures they were operating in. They laughed at many inside jokes that were a peculiarity to them.

Finally, we took the ten to Indian schools where, before Indian students, they recited Indian poetry. The lack of response annoyed them.

"They don't ask any questions!" "They just sit there." "They don't say anything!"

For the first time, it dawned on them that "that class" is the same as I was. For 12 years, I sat and said nothing. What for? It leads nowhere. For the ten girls, this was an insight into their own behavior through 12 school years, for in these students they saw themselves and realized they had missed much by sitting stoically aloof and not involving themselves.

Sorry, no. Not all of them went on to college; but three girls did: Monica Caye, Clara Adams, and Elma Crowe. The first two went to the University of Montana at Missoula, and Elma attended the Haskell Indian Institute at Lawrence, Kansas. Other girls returned to the reservation to make a life again at home. Some went to airline stewardess schools in Minneapolis, some to beauty schools in Sioux Falls.

But, as of this writing, three are enrolled in college this fall.

All have replied to the questions: "Was it worthwhile?' "Who will hire me?" "Who will hire an Indian girl?"

Yes, it was worthwhile.